


Redeath

by CloudDreamer



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Blaseball is a horror game, Canon Temporary Character Death, Charleston Shoe Thieves (Blaseball Team), Drowning, Esme Ramsey is spooky and also a good friend, Or well she's trying on that last front, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: The idol board finalizes.Jaylen returns to the Hall.
Relationships: Jaylen Hotdogfingers & Esme Ramsey
Kudos: 2
Collections: Charleston Shoe Thieves Fanfiction





	Redeath

**Author's Note:**

> TWs here as well since I couldn't figure out how to put this succinctly into the tags: Explicit depictions of drowning to death, thinking something is a panic attack but actually the POV character is dying

It’s 11:59. 

The sky is dark outside her window, although the hotel room Jaylen shares with Esme is bright. There are dozens of similarly golden windows across the Charleston skyline, and Jaylen lets her eyes catch on each and every one of them. She notices the potted plants on the windowsills and the silhouettes that pass briefly by. Dozens of stories she doesn’t have time for. The world moves too quickly for Blaseball players to be able to have that sort of quiet life. 

Her head rests on Esme’s shoulder, a phantom presence almost pushing against her head with some pressure but not entirely visible. Esme controls how physical the horns are, Stu had explained, but she can’t make them go away altogether. It’s disconcerting, but what isn’t disconcerting about Esme? It’s kind of beautiful, the Esme carries herself anyway. She walks like she doesn’t see the eyes on her back. She isn’t afraid of the impact of her words. She knows how much damage she will do, and she cares nothing for the hatred of the crowd or its praise. 

Esme hit Jaylen once, when the feedback first brought her to this team, and she said that was it, that there would be no more vengeance. She’d been right, not just in regards to the Shoe Thieves. There were no more ambushes at the end of games, no more letters delivered to her front door stuffed with violent words. 

There was still hatred. Still resentment. Still fear. When she drew back to pitch, hitters had to steady themselves, expecting those burning balls that left their body trying to pull itself apart, drawing the ire of the umpires. It was earned. Her arm still moved too fast when all the feelings she tried to hard to push down became too much, but this time, when it landed, the sound didn’t invite the sizzle of flesh, it called forth a high frequency squeal, like a speaker failing in the worst possible way. And it’s not good to be torn from the heart of your team and people who love you, Jaylen knows it fucking sucks, but it’s fixable. Death isn’t fixable. Not without a cost. 

It’s 12:00 on the last night of season ten, and Jaylen can’t breathe. 

She’s sure it’s just a panic attack. Her lungs are screaming for air; her heart is pounding too quick. What else could it be? She tries to breath, looks for all the books Esme has left scattered around, pulled out of Jaylen’s suitcase for appraisal and then discarded almost immediately after. If it’s not a recipe, Esme won’t give anything written the time of day. Burnt out on a bunch of ancient scrolls or some shit — she coughs, jerking forward. She’s trying to find those words, she really is, but she can’t seem to make out each letter. They’re all wrong. 

Esme puts one hand on Jaylen’s shoulder, and she twists away, coughing again. It feels like there’s something in her lungs— she keeps coughing. It’s wet— something’s coming out wet. 

“Panic attack,” Jaylen wheezes out, trying to explain herself. Did something trigger it? She hasn’t— she hasn’t— hasn’t freaked out like this just at the mere thought of necromancy in a long time. It’s been ages since she’s been deep in the trench. She shouldn’t be feeling salt water in her lungs. 

Panic. Attack. 

This happens. She’s okay— 

She’s not okay. She’s _not_ okay. 

She tries to fill her head with song, with all the lyrics to the tunes she’ll get to sing when the time’s right, and she’s in the same city as the band again. Being on a different team hadn’t ruled her out from playing before, she’ll play again. She wants to play her guitar. She’ll feel its weight in her hands again. She’s not dying. She is here, and the sensation of weight on her chest is a fabrication of her mind. She is not drowning. She can’t— 

“Jaylen Hotdogfingers,” Esme says, and her voice is normal. It is always normal. She seems like the kind of person who should get some weird affect. Maybe the voice of the legion thing. Jaylen laughs at that, her body is shaking back and forth, and she’s coughing. She’s trying to stop. She’s trying to breathe, to swallow, but she keeps coughing. Water. There’s water on the floor around her. Did she break a glass while flailing? “This was planned.”

She tries to form words but she can’t make a sound. 

“This’s important. I’d say I wanted to warn you and couldn’t, but that’d be a lie.” 

“Venge?” Jaylen forces out, can’t make the other half of the word. Her mouth tastes like sea water. Why is it sea water? 

“No, you’d just have worried like a baby the whole time and this wasn’t a 100% guarantee. Didn’t want you to panic for no reason. You’ll be fine, kay? Dead but fine. There’s a plan.”

Her vision is blurry. There’s something trying to come up now, something wrong, clogging up her throat. She reaches in, tries to rip it out, and it’s sea weed. She can’t — She can’t breathe — She’s —

She’s

A loud sound rings out. High pitched. Static. It hurts. It hurts, and Jaylen’s chest is trying to push out through her ribcage, and something’s ringing, and she can’t breathe, and she can’t fucking breathe, and Esme is holding her tight, and her tone is all wrong, and it’s all too formal, but she’s holding Jaylen tight, she’s —  
_Please_ , Jaylen cries out, and she doesn’t know who to, but 

“I’ve got you.”

She’s gone. 

It's all gone.

Again.


End file.
